


No Safe Spaces in Her Bone Fort

by Elywyngirlie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Horcrux Sex, Horcruxes, It Was A Dark And Stormy Night, Ministry Parties, Only One Bed, Plot With Porn, Power Imbalance, Sharing a Bed, That is Not Herbal Essences in the shower with you Hermione, Wizarding Racism, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elywyngirlie/pseuds/Elywyngirlie
Summary: Tomione smut fest 2020Prompt: Only One BedHermione and Tom arrive at the 113th Annual Autumn Ministerial Conference to find that Tom's reservation is lost.They must share a room.There is only one bed.And the only way they can get away with it is by pretending to be engaged.Tom, happily, has a Gaunt family heirloom with him to provide the ring.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 12
Kudos: 186
Collections: Tomione Smut Fest 2020





	No Safe Spaces in Her Bone Fort

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [TomioneSmutFest20](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TomioneSmutFest20) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Only One Bed AU

Hermione stared at the bed. That large looming thing that occupied well over half the room, shoving a desk and wingback armchair into the furthest corners, as if they were shirking from the weight of the four poster monster. It dominated the space. It whispered of indolent mornings and luxuriating evenings underneath voluminous forest green sheets. 

“You must be joking,” she finally got out, heat suffusing her cheeks. Lightning forked through the sky and the candles dimmed, throwing the room into stark relief before thunder snapped, easing the tension. The lights flickered back on. 

Tom Riddle shook his head and leaned against a bed post, sweeping back his perfectly coiffed curls. A flare of irritation, again, at how he managed to flee the carriage before her just as the sky opened and it began to rain in torrents. Her impervious had been a tad late, leaving her drenched and shivering as Riddle charmed the clerk at the hotel for the 113th Mid Autumn Ministry Conference for Magical Rights. 

“Look, Riddle,” Hermione began again, biting back her impatience. “I didn’t ask why the Minister had requested a non Ministry employee to attend this conference. I didn’t ask why I had to share my carriage with you when it had been specifically arranged for one. But I certainly do require verification that somehow your reservation was lost.”

Riddle shrugged artlessly and tugged off his coat, throwing over the bed. That bed, she fumed. 

“You can ask the clerk yourself. With the storm and the strong protections the various ministries put in place, I can’t just boff off to some other hotel in Albania, now can I?” His lips curled, the slang somehow comfortable in his elegant mouth. He was all crisp sleeves and pointed edges and polished dragonhide. A knife in an attractive sheath, she thought, remembering too well how easily he trounched his classmates in Dueling club. The only one who could hold him off was Harry.

Oh how she longed for Harry. Sharing a room with him would be alright. They were more like siblings than anything else and his easy humor would abrade her sharp edges. With Tom, however, she was sure to be nothing more than the prickly swot. He always brought out the worst in her, ending her crush when she worked as a prefect under his regime as Head Boy. 

“Of course, I would consider it a favor if you allow me to stay here, Miss Granger. Rather than tossing me out onto the parlor,” his smile was easy and she bristled. “I am here as a special favor to the Deputy Minister. I could let him know how kind and helpful you were.” 

She shot him a frigid glare. “Is that a bribe?”

Tom chuckled and studied his nails, flat black eyes unreadable. “Not all. Just a quid pro quo, if you would.”

Hermione crossed her arms, tongue running over her teeth, a retort teetering in her mind. Instead, she huffed and began to hang up her wardrobe. It was her room, after all. She glanced at the valise at his feet and the closet space, lips pursuing. The Deputy Minister had been ignoring her owls lately. If he and Riddle were close, it could be the edge she needed to push through her initiatives. 

“And what do you want, Riddle?” she asked finally. Quietly. Her spain ramrod straight, no hint of acquiescence, merely curiosity. 

“Well, I can’t very well let it be known that I am staying with an unwed witch. Sorry about poor Weasley, there, eh,” he murmured and she bit her lip at the insult, the pity saccharine and false. “But neither can you. So I propose a simple solution.” He waited for her, waited for her inevitable question. She could feel the magic crackling in the air between them, frissons of electricity humming along her skin. Outside, the wind howled and branches scraped against the large picture window. 

Tom sighed and she caught him pinching his nose.”Look, Miss Granger, if you would just pretend to be my fiancé, that would make things easier for the both of us.”

She turned to face him, brows drawing together. “That’s it? Pretend we’re engaged?” Tom nodded eagerly and she felt herself soften toward him. He was wide eyed and youthful as he leaned toward her, eyes a tempest tossed ocean in the candlelight. A wrinkle along his shoulder seam. She licked her lips. 

“That’s it. Nothing more nothing less.” He gestured toward the ring on his finger. “This is a family heirloom. It would make it easy to play along. And in return, I’ll inform Nott of how…accommodating you were.” 

“When we return, some people might expect me to still be engaged to you,” Hermione pointed out, looking for any holes in the arrangement. She seemed to be getting the better end of the deal. 

Tom shrugged again. “Engagements fail all the time. As I’m sure you’re well aware.” She inhaled sharply, all too aware of her chin wobbling. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. 

“I won’t let you be cruel to me,” she whispered, wincing at the ragged edge in her voice. “And there will be nothing between us.”

“Just a few lingering glances and a couple of dances,” Tom agreed with a wide smile as he slipped the ring off his finger. He beckoned toward her and she licked her lips, holding out her hand. She refused to tremble as he slid the odd black ring on her finger. She stared at the stone, at how it seemed to absorb the light, before she shrugged. 

Pure blood families had the oddest heirlooms. 

“I’ll see you downstairs at the reception,”he murmured as he raised her knuckles, lips cool on her skin. Hermione jerked her hand back and waved her wand at the bed, moving the pillows into a rigid line bisecting the bed. 

“So you don’t get any ideas,” she warned frostily. Tom’s smile slipped and a coldness stared back at her. She raised her wand, grip tightening as a smile creased his face. 

“Don’t trouble yourself Granger. As fetching as you are, I doubt either of us would find enjoyment in our coupling.” She stiffened at the crudeness in his words. 

“I'm afraid I don’t find you that interesting,” she snarled. 

“Of course you don’t,” he quipped, pushing by her and opening the door. “See you soon,” he murmured, his voice a low growl in her ear. Hermione shivered and he caught it, chuckling as he closed the door with a click. 

Hermione stared at the bed and hoped she made the right decision. 

* * *

Much later, she stepped into the lounge where the reception was being held. In the corner, a gramophone had been enchanted to play something surprisingly contemporary. She fluffed her curls, hoping the spell held, before slipping over to the bar where a glass of champagne was quickly pressed into her hands. She took a grateful sip, clasping her drink and surveying the crowd, taking in the elegant robes and bejeweled wizard hats. She fiddled with the ring on her finger, finding its presence an odd warmth. 

“Aah, you must be the future Mrs Riddle,” an old man exclaimed, toddling up to her and waving his empty glass at a bartender who obligingly filled it. 

“Excuse me?” she spluttered and the man chuckled, waving a finger at her ring. 

“Quite the catch, young lady. And he told me all about your work on house elves rights. We could do with that in Germany.” He paused and took a drink before holding out a hand. “Stefan Konig, Deputy minister.”

Hermione blushed and took the hand. A deputy minister seeking her out! Konig took another gulp of fire whiskey before peppering her with questions. 

She found herself caught up in explaining the gradual process of house elves rights, Konig’s enthusiasm pulling her along. While she paused to take a sip, she spied Tom huddled in the corner, chatting animatedly with someone. She had never seen him so excited before, not even in Hogwarts when Slytherin won the House cup. She felt that annoying twinge of softness toward him for setting up the meeting with Konig.

Heat began to lick along her spine and she shook her head, jerking her gaze away from Tom’s artful curls and sly grin. Her hand was sweaty, his ring sitting heavily on her finger where it pressed against her glass. Konig followed her gaze and chuckled knowingly.

“Ah, young love,” he crooned. “I shan’t keep you from your beau anymore.”

“Oh but our conversation--”

“No worries, Fraulein Granger. I shall speak with you tomorrow. Besides. I see your young man heading this way.” It was true. Tom was stalking toward her, a particularly pleased expression on his face. He paused to offer Konig a slight bow, all pureblood manners as they made small talk in front of her. Thunder rolled overhead and for a moment, the lights flickered. 

“I’ve kept you two for far too long.You should enjoy the dancing,” Konig encouraged, waving a hand at the few couples swaying under a star strewn enchanted sky. 

“But...I….”Hermione protested feebly, as Tom palmed off her champagne flute and slipped his palm into hers. 

“Young love. And with a mudblood too,” Konig said approvingly. Hermione gasped as Tom swung her into the crowd, arm sliding around her waist, snapping her into place. 

“Shut it, Granger,” Tom growled. “Hold it in. Use it.” 

“How dare he!” she seethed, all joy ebbing away at the casual slur. Tom’s fingers tightened on hers and she grimaced as her bones ground together. 

“Stop treating everyone as if they are enlightened as you. We have work to do here, Tom hissed, his voice low and urgent. His steps were rapid and demanding, forcing her to pay attention to him as they moved through the steps. He was an elegant dancer, she sulked. 

“A rather daring gown you’re wearing. My compliments to Madame Malkin, despite your clinging to House colors,” Tom said coolly and Hermione shook her head. She wore an off the shoulder crushed velvet gown in deep burgundy. 

“You’d rather talk about my outfit than what he said to me?” she snarled and Tom sighed as if bored. 

“People will always say terrible things, Hermione.” She jerked at the easy use of her name, at the music switching time into a slow waltz that had him pulling her in close. “They will treat you poorly. The only way to beat them is not to lecture them but to become more powerful than them.”  She scowled up at him as Tom tucked a curl behind her ear, his emerald cufflinks winking in the low light . A couple swung near them, a woman gushing her congratulations over their engagement. Lightning cracked loudly and a couple of witches near the window tittered. Hermione frowned.

“Did you tell  _ everyone _ ?” Tom shrugged, a casual movement that meant everything and nothing. 

“Just a few key people. You hardly need to tell everyone something, my darling. Just the ones who love gossip.”

“I’m not your darling,” she snapped without thinking and Tom’s placid expression cracked for a moment, a darkness leaking into his eyes. It was gone with a swirl and she thought perhaps she had imagined it under the dim lights. 

“You are for the next couple of days so get used to it. I won’t have your prissiness mucking up what is an excellent opportunity for all of us. After all, the German deputy minister seemed quite keen on you didn’t he?” Tom leered and Hermione looked away, fuming. 

“As if I want his approbation.”

“Of course you do. You need it. The only way to get power is to play the game.”

“What if I don’t want to play the game?’ she asked petulantly. 

“Then I guess you’re doomed to remain a junior associate to the deputy of a deputy with an office the size of a closet and to watch all of your legislation die before its even debated in the Wizengamot.” She stiffened and he twirled her elegantly before reeling her in, arm just as tight, his breath hot against her forehead. She never realized how much he smelled like ambergris--musky and sharp, crushed needles on a moldy forest floor. 

She allowed him to lead her for a few more beats before speaking again. 

“Is this the only way?” She hated how pitiful she sounded. Tom gave her a searching look before nodding.

“Konig was enraptured with you and your ideas, darling.” She didn’t balk at the endearment. “He found you fascinating. Play the game and take charge. Soon you’ll be deputy minister, if not higher. And then you can change the rules of the game.” He dipped her and she lightly smacked his shoulder as his eyes drifted down to her decolletage. He grinned wickedly as he swung her back up. 

“I did say you were fetching,” he conceded and she blushed. She heard the rush of gossip behind her and she craned her neck to see a crowd pointing at them. She sighed. 

“You’re better than all of them, Hermione.” She slipped out of his arms with a forlorn look. Her heart ached as her dreams shattered. She was only someone because she was with him. She was only someone once before because she was with Ron, because she was friends with Harry. 

She was never someone because she was Hermione. 

“I’m going to bed,” she said bitterly. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she didn’t even have the energy to care. All part of the game, she thought glumly. Thunder munched ominously as she marched up the stairs back to the room. She grabbed her bedclothes and toiletries before locking herself in the bathroom. 

Steam filled the air as hot water poured out of the shower head. Hermione sighed and stared at herself in the mirror, hand idly waving away the make up she had put on earlier. Her hair fell out in a mess of gnarled, tangled curls and she wandlessly called up her conditioner and comb from her bag. She rubbed at her forehead, failing to wipe away the searing imprint of Tom’s kiss. 

Hermione stepped into the shower and groaned. She closed her eyes and leaned into the hot water to banish the chill. Here, in this private place, her face hidden by a cloud of steam, she could admit to herself how nice Tom’s arms felt. He was an excellent dancer and even now she could smell the rising scent of his aftershave. She shook her head--she wouldn't revive her childhood crush on him. She reached for her shampoo, focusing on mundane tasks. 

As she tipped her face to the water, the lights flickered and buzzed, but thankfully remained on. The black ring caught on the edge of her hand and she hissed as it scoured a blistering line along her palm. She ran the conditioner through her hair and winced as it burned the scratch. The lights wavered. 

Something ghosted up her thighs, velvet and smooth, like gentle hands. She frowned and shook out her legs. 

“I must be tired,” she muttered to herself, running the comb through her hair. She forced herself to think of her strategy for tomorrow. Warm air slid upward across her breasts, as though cupping and squeezing for a moment before dipping along her rib cage, teasing each knob along her spine with brushes of balmy air. Her nipples peaked and she gasped at the sudden infusion of heat between her legs. Her hair slid back off her shoulder and a mossy scent filled her nose as fever spots lit up along her collarbone. 

Hermione’s breath hitched and she shook her head as if to wake up. A tingling sensation lingered along her hips before surging upward once more, breasts tightening and back bowing. She whined as her body tightened, stomach clenching. 

She scrambled back, breathing ragged, as she called for her wand. It flew over the shower door to land her palm. She looked around with wild eyes and yelped at the shadow of a man in the mirror. But as she ran through the spells to reveal who it might be, the steam refused to part. There was no one, no one there but her. The only sound was her heart thundering in her ears, the water hammering against the tile, the thunder outside fading away. 

She cursed, leaping at the sudden knock on the door. 

“Granger, I’m back,” Tom called. Hermione exhaled heavily, refusing to recognize her relief at his presence. She wrenched off the shower, listening to Tom move around the room. Ordering herself to get a grip, she toweled off and frowned at her nightgown. She had brought one of her favorites, a black satin thing that swung around her calves and dipped invitingly towards her breasts. It revealed nothing, of course, she reminded herself as she dressed. 

Yanking her comb through her curls, she exited the bathroom to find Tom stretched out on the bed, jacket hanging neatly and today’s Daily Prophet in hand. He raised an eyebrow at her attire. She lifted her chin, daring him to make a comment. His eyes grew hooded and he licked his lips. Hermione looked away, uncertain of the way her heart was tripping into her rib cage and he laughed mercilessly. 

She pretended to study her hair in the mirror, pretended to ignore the knocking of her pulse in her ears. She watched him stand up and study her, hands tucked into his pockets, his dark eyes glittering, his face drawn tight. 

“Is there something you want?” she asked, proud of her even voice.

“Yes,” he said gravelly. 

“I thought we wouldn’t find enjoyment in our coupling.” 

“I am well known for my ability to master the new and unusual. I’m sure I’d find my way around. I promise you’d enjoy the lessons.” She shivered and crossed the room to stare out at the storm out the window. Heat pressed against her back and she leaned into it, expecting Tom to sidle up behind her and continue his seduction. 

Instead he took another tact: “You know, you’re worth the lot of them at the Ministry, Hermione.” His voice sounded distant and she  whirled around, cheeks gone scarlet, ashamed of the path her thoughts had taken. Tom was still by the bed, his gaze appreciative. 

“Is this all this is to you, Tom? A game?” 

“Everything can be a game, darling.”

Her lip curled.

“Not to me.”

Tom smirked, hooking one finger under his valise. He cast a long look over her, a survey from her toes to the dip in her gown, the curve of a breast visible. Hermione scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. He smiled again, something secret and dark like the warmth cupping her frame. 

Some sort of heating charm, she idly thought as the bathroom door closed behind him. She must have been so stupid to see anything soft in him, she swore. She was certain now he was manipulating her toward something, but she wasn’t sure what. Oh, how she loathed him, she mused bitterly despite the heat that flared in her cheeks at his compliments, at the naked desire on his face. 

Hermione tapped her lip as lightning forked in the distance and pine branches brushed against the glass in the breeze. The heat at her back pressed into her, entwining her in an oddly comforting embrace. She blinked and saw the hazy image of a man curling around her in the window. She gasped, whirling around to yell at Tom. 

But there was no one there.

She twisted back to look at the window and saw only the pitch black night, lit by the violet flashes of colliding clouds. 

Hermione pressed her palms into her eyes.

“I must be more tired than I thought,” she muttered as she drifted across the room, rueing the mess her hair would be when she woke up. 

She eyed the bed, chewing her bottom lip, playing with Tom’s ring on her finger but she didn’t take it off. She slid beneath the sheets, trying to ignore the sounds of Tom moving in the bathroom next door and shivering as the sheets slithered around her.

She closed her eyes, a warmth settling over her, as if someone were layering blankets over her. She let out a tired sigh and her eyes fluttered shut, tendrils of sleep curling around the edges of her mind as she drifted off. She barely felt the bed dipping beside her, taking a long breath as she drifted deeper and deeper into sleep. 

  
  


Another night, another reception, and Konig was nattering away at her. Hermione blew out her air impatiently. 

_ Why let him act as if you matter,  _ a voice crooned in her ear.  _ You know what he’s really thinking.  _ She blinked up at the minister. 

“So brilliant!” he crowed and she smiled crookedly. 

“Yes, I’m sure it must be a surprise that a mudblood can think for herself,” Hermione cracked. Konig barely reacted, nodding enthusiastically, face contorted as he leered at her. 

“You understand it my dear! I wondered what a pureblood like Riddle saw in you but you aren’t like other mudbloods you know. Quite articulate!” She gasped at him.  _ Let him see your power _ , the voice silkily commanded her. Hermione resisted the urge to curse the man on the spot and turned stiffly away. 

Into Tom’s arms. 

He smiled benevolently at her, before encircling her in his arms and sweeping her into the dancing crowd. She was without heels, she noted. The candles seemed brighter and the tittering of the crowd seemed louder. She gasped as she saw a witch kneel before another and lift up her robes, head disappearing beneath the skirt. 

“Hardly a prude are you?” Tom queried, his voice a rich velvet against the nakedness of her spine. 

“I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming,” Hermione told herself. Tom nuzzled her neck.

“And if you are,” he breathed. “Why hold yourself back? Why not do everything you’ve ever wanted?” Hermione shook her head and Tom’s disappointment needled her skin. 

“Not giving into our baser desires is what separates us from animals!” she seethed. 

“And here we’ve arrived at trite conversation between good and evil,” he replied bored. 

Hermione stared up at him, a snarl permanently stamped on his lips. 

“Is there good and evil in the natural world?”he demanded. She shook her head, ignoring the heated whispers of those around them. “Is a flood destructive?”

“Using Avada on someone is different from a flood.”

“Is it? In what ways?” She turned away from him and he pressed a fluttering kiss against her temple. She gasped in outrage. “I long to know what’s in that mind of yours.” 

“A flood has no will!” she snapped. “We do!” Tom smiled, the shadows transforming it into a ghoulish leer. 

“Do we? What if it's your life or someone else’s?” he pressed her close, his heat flooding her senses, the moss threatening to drown her, his hands trailing up and down her back, callused thumbs grazing the valleys in her hips. 

Suddenly impatient with the turn of this dream, Hermione wrenched his face toward hers. It's just a dream, she told herself. And gave herself the permission to kiss him. 

But Tom Riddle didn’t kiss. He devoured her with all the ferocity of a wildfire tearing through a savanna. She swore she could hear her flesh sizzling, burnt amber enveloping her as he slammed her into a satin lined wall.

“You do have the most interesting dreamscapes,” he told the hollow of her throat as he devoted his ministrations to it, his tongue tripping across it to explore the landscape of her collarbones. 

“You are rather self aware for a dream,” she panted, hitching one leg around him. “And I thought as the brightest wizard of your age, you’d promise to master anything.” Tom sneered into her neck, teeth scoring delicate dermis, and they were falling into bed, his hips insistently grinding into hers. 

“So impatient,” she murmured as he whispered the incantation to banish their robes. She didn’t want to hide from him, from the possessive look in his eyes as he drew back to drink in her form. He bent down to trail kisses from her jaw to her navel, stubble dragging against her flesh, stomach quivering with each move. His hand played with the lace trim on her panties, skittering away as she lifted her hips to meet them. 

She ran her hands over his surprisingly chiseled chest. She chased the pulse beneath his chest, her tongue lapping at his nipple, a thrill crabbing up her spine at the rough texture. She sucked and he moaned. She locked the sound in her mind, in the deepest recesses, for exploration on her own later. 

Hermione wrapped her legs around him, Tom’s motions growing rougher as he rented the bra in two. He attacked her breasts, gasoline poured on the fire within. She arched up against him, gasping, nails seeking purchase. He rolled one nipple between his teeth, his hand cupping and squeezing the other. His tongue rode her flesh, sucking, a scrape of teeth on overly sensitive skin and she quivered, his name a pleading from her lips. She was rubbed raw from the stubble from his whiskers and she wanted that burn between her thighs for days to come. 

A wave of greediness hit her and she rolled him over, settling over him, pining his hands overhead. He watched her as she worked her way down his chest, thumbs hooking under his boxers, dragging them down, to meet his cock, long and pale and hard. She could weep from the length of it, her pussy clenching with desire. 

“Like what you see?”

She barely suppressed the need to roll her eyes. “Of course, I like what I see. It’s my dream.” And then swallowed him down, pleasure rolling through her at watching him writhe as she licked and sipped, her tongue twirling around his delicate head. He watched her drag a finger through a bead of precum before placing it in her mouth and he whimpered. Triumph flooded through her to see him before her, begging her. Beneath her. Her tongue darted around his cock, hand lazily pumping him, eyes on him as he came apart underneath her. 

“That’s right, darling. Take me in you. Drink me down,” he whispered. She reached for him again and found herself with a yelp being yanked up to him, hands bruising hips, as he slid under her, lips murmuring dark promises against tender thighs. She grasped the headboard, faltering, as his tongue delved her folds, fingers parting her with feather light strokes.

“You belong to me,” he told her as his fingers plunged inside of her. She cried out--he wasn’t gentle, his mouth working her, his fingers crooking along her walls, an assault that had her tumbling over mere moments later. He rolled her over on her back, kisses sloppy, all teeth and conquest, marking her with his thumbprints, his tongue, his cum. She nestled into the pillows as he slung one of her legs over his shoulder, giving him an eyeful.

She grinned boldly. “Like what you see?” She was confident of an answer in the dream. Tom grinned lazily at her, watching her shudder as his thumb brushed her sensitive clit. 

“I always like what’s mine.”

“I never said yes.”

“That ring on your hand says otherwise.” He looked up at her as he lined himself up, cock too big against her and she barely had a moment to puzzle over that before he was pushing in. He kept his touch on her clit light, barely grazing it, and she squirmed as pressure began to frizz along her skin. 

“Say your mine, Hermione. Submit to me,” Tom commanded, his pace punishing, unslaking. He was watching himself slide slowly out of her, thumb lifting off her clit, and she sobbed. He slammed back into her, smacking her hand away as she tried to release the pressure that threatened to overwhelm her. 

“Just say it. And I’ll give you whatever you want.” Hermione grunted, pushing against him, scrabbling at his hand when the bed curtains came alive and tangled her arms, twining them together and lifting her off the bed.. 

“Cheating!” she cried as she was pulled up, nearly sitting on him. He struck, mouth snapping around a breast, nails burrowing into her hips. Her cunt clenched tightly around him and she jammed her eyes closed, whining as he rammed himself in her. Too deep, too hard, and she longed for it, needed more of him. She begged, promising him anything as he drew himself out achingly slow. 

“Say it, Hermione, say you submit!” he thundered and she keened. 

“Yes, yes I submit!” It was a shriek, it was a promise, and Tom sealed it with a kiss, hot and hungry and bloody. Her orgasm tore through her, she exhaled into him, the mattress coming up to cup her, pleasure exploding in fever hot spots along her skin, little flares of electricity as their magic mingled and flowed together. 

He was surprisingly tender, cooing sweet words as they lay entwined together, fluttering touches, his eyes greedy as he scooped and squeezed her breasts. He lifted her hand and kissed his ring on her hand, the metal searing her flesh. She let out an airy giggle at the absurdity of it all even as the maelstrom caught them again. Scorching, fevered kisses, fingers sticky with her slick, bodies dewy with sweat, her hips rolling against him. He slipped his knee between her thighs, arm snaking around her, suckling her bottom lip. She slid against him, chasing a delicate dreamy frissioning along her flesh--

“Miss Granger...Hermione...Hermione!” 

“Just a moment, Tom,” she moaned, her cunt flooding wet and she moaned long and deep. 

“Well that’s certainly something,” Tom commented dryly and her eyes flew open. Hermione bolted up, eyes wide, cheeks scarlet, embarrassment scattering her pleasure away rapidly. Her thighs held his knee tightly. The pillows between them were gone and the ring was a vise on her finger. 

“What? What?”

Tom gazed up at her amusedly. “Seems like you are a rather...active sleeper.” She shied away from him but Tom’s hands fastened tightly on her.

“Now, Hermione, you just were just on the edge. It’d be impolite to leave you...unsatisfied.” He ground his knee against her and she hissed, scrabbling away. She ripped off the ring, flinging it at him, unaware of the dark purple scar in its place. 

“No, no. no, this can’t be happening!” She fled the room, heart hammering, a sob caught in her throat. 

She didn’t catch Tom’s smug grin as he nestled into the pillows. He fiddled with the ring, picking up the essence of the dream from himself. He smirked as Hermione’s weeping reached his ears. 

He had her exactly where he wanted her. 

Rather than letting her stew, Tom got up and easily dismantled her wards to open the bathroom door. Hermione was crouched on the floor, features tear stained, bruises half visible along her collarbone. He quietly congratulated himself on netting his prize. 

“Now...about that favor…” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written anything explicit in a while so, uh, yeah. Hope it works! 
> 
> title taken from Hannibal, S1 E1  
> "No forts in your bone arena of your skull for things you love"


End file.
